Sojourn
Part Four
"So, when are we gonna go somewhere fun?" Perched on the yellow bench, Rose swung her feet absently, evading the Doctor's reaching hands.
Jack watched from his vantage point: partially hidden from view, leaning in the doorway. The Doctor, sprawled in front of Rose, was grabbing at the feet flicking past him.
He'd been watching in fascination as they'd maneuvered around the room.
They'd wandered, obviously unaware, seemingly at random until they were in direct proximity. Like watching a planet orbit the sun, subtle movements bringing them closer as if tethered together.
"What's not been fun? You haven't had fun?" The Doctor's voice was mournful but his grin never shifted.
"Oh yeah." Rose looked down at him, sliding forward, resting sock-clad feet on his crossed legs. "The last week's been just brilliant. Saw the inside of a space station that didn't sell anything but stuff for space ships and got hit on by three sleazy aliens."
Counting her woes on her fingers, Rose didn't see the sharp glance the Doctor threw Jack. He just shrugged. Narrowed eyes told him this was not the last he'd be hearing of it.
"Saw a bunch of great big rocks while you sauntered off to do god knows what, and came back late, making us worry."
Apparently satisfied she'd made her case she aimed a pointed toe at the Doctor's chest, nudging him gently. "Yeah," she repeated, "what could be more fun than that?"
Leaning back, one hand wrapped around her foot, drawing it with him, he was either deep in thought or doing an excellent imitation.
Jack was struck with a sense of foreboding at the wicked grin that suddenly flashed across the Doctor's face.
"Somewhere fun, huh? Somewhere different, is that what you mean?" At Rose's enthusiastic nod, he continued, "What about somewhere they have really great drinks? And shopping?"
"That sounds like heaven." Rose tucked her feet underneath her, leaned forward. "Can we go soon? Can we go now?"
Leaping to his feet, bounding to the controls, he grinned. "Your wish is my command."
He tried to make sense of what the Doctor did to prod the engine into motion, to note what sequence of buttons and levers told the TARDIS where to take them but it could have been random whimsy, his eyes unable to discern a pattern.
The TARDIS opened onto an alley; at least Jack presumed it was an alley. Polished white stone, clean, with no garbage in sight: he'd seen temples that weren't as nice. Wondering just where they were, he stepped out into the immaculate thoroughfare.
Turned, watching as Rose and the Doctor stepped out; squelched the brief, irritating flare of relief, the tiny thought that the TARDIS would dematerialise once he'd left it.
"Wow, it's, um, very clean." Rose looked around her dubiously. "Very white."
She was right; the buildings on either side of the alley were formed from huge blocks of white stone, gleaming as clean as the pavers. He wondered what sort of fun could be found here, in a place so pristine.
The Doctor gripped his arm, halting forward motion and shaking his head. "Here, Rose goes first."
Rose looked up, startled, at this pronouncement. "What?"
She echoed his thoughts.
"Rose has to go first. And you and I, Jack, have to walk a respectful distance behind."
He did not like the sound of this.
Chaotic sound and colour greeted them as they left the alley. Bright sunlight dazzling on highly polished stone, a swirl of noise and smells. Blinding colours strolling past, followed by dark shadows, two, three, four: the brighter the colours, the more shadows trailed behind.
The cacophony rioting past his senses gradually resolved itself into a market place, filled with people. And everywhere he looked he saw female aliens, different species but uniformly swathed in garish clothes, followed by males in blacks or browns, the occasional one in grey or beige.
Males who appeared to be regarded like pets: waving female hands demanded attention, delivered casual caresses when they responded. He saw a package dropped, saw a blow delivered, imagined he could hear the crack of flesh on flesh even across the market's din.
Every move, every interaction between male and female spoke of the status difference: female stallholders, males standing to the side, obviously servants. No male walked alone in the market's crowd: part of a train or simply in pairs, they watched their mistresses, eyes focussed on them like well-trained dogs.
He'd heard of societies like this but had never visited one.
Rose was slower to understand, turning to the Doctor, asking, "What?" in obvious confusion. He could see the idea creep up on her, watched understanding dawn. "The women are in charge?" She grinned, and it was tinged with more than a touch of glee. "About time!"
He hoped it was the idea, not the reality playing out in front of them, she was responding to; excited by a society just like her own with the power differential reversed, not this apparent absolute oppression of one sex by the other.
They paced into the heart of the market, the Doctor falling easily into the subdued walk expected here, eyes downcast but casting conspiratorial glances, clearly enjoying the charade.
He had to rein in his natural swagger, fight to keep his eyes down. The men here were subservient, hurrying along behind, scurrying, arms laden with shopping. He wouldn't pretend to that level.
Each time he slipped - tossed his head back, strode out too vigorously - he was noticed. Offended glares directed his way, disapproving glances shot at Rose. She didn't notice, to wrapped up in the wonder of the market or her sense of power.
Give someone power and they'd exercise it; power over another and they'd exploit it. He was just waiting for her to fall fully into her role.
Rose slowed, stopping in front of a stall displaying multi-coloured swaths of cloth. They took up station to either side of her, his clenched fists shoved deep in his pockets.
The stallholder, huge, towering three feet over Rose, hurried forward eagerly. "Greetings, lady. What may I show you?" Quick hands danced nimbly over turns of fabric, flipping edges to show the stitching on the underside.
"These are pretty. Are they dresses?" Rose's voice was innocent, inquiring.
A puzzled glance, quickly hidden and the woman indicated her own flowing garments. "Robes, gentle lady. Proper clothing for a lady with two husbands, to reflect your status." A gentle chiding, hinting Rose was perhaps not presenting herself in a fitting way.
Rose froze, then grinned; giggled, but stifled it. "Two… Oh yeah, my two husbands." She looked at neither of them, but he could feel the hilarity radiating off her. Uh huh, he thought, that was all that had been missing: polygamous marriage as a sign of status.
"And, if the lady will forgive me?" Rose cocked her head curiously, waiting. "Perhaps you might wish to clothe your boys more appropriately? I have several suitable articles I could show you…" A gentle smile softened what was clearly a rebuke.
Rose stiffened, glancing right, then left. The Doctor in his standard fair: jeans, jacket, jumper, boots; dark and plain. Jack in tight, tight jeans, black and soft like velvet, a brilliant yellow t-shirt outlining every muscle that rippled under his skin.
"What's wrong with the way they're dressed?" Her voice was defensive, protective. "I like them this way."
The stallholder rushed to soothe. "Nothing, nothing, gentle lady. I meant no offence. Each has their own requirements for their boys. I simply wished to offer an alternative, should the lady care to clothe them more…traditionally."
She stood silently, then thanked the stallholder perfunctorily and re-entered the flow of people. They followed and he watched her, walking slowly, thoughtfully through the crowds. After several minutes she dropped back to walk between them and, oblivious to the shocked stares, linked her arms through theirs and asked, "So, husbands, where to now?"
Carefully, respectfully, the Doctor drew away, an almost imperceptible shake of his head accomplishing what the disapproval of the market goers had not. Jack copied the movement, stepping back; missed what the Doctor said but they were moving again, heading for the edge of the market. As the crowds thinned out he breathed a bit easier.
Rose led them to a deserted grassy area, flopping down on the furthest bench; he joined her, not surprised when the Doctor elected to sit at her feet, carefully not touching her.
"So, my two husbands, was it a church wedding?" Laughter erupted and the Doctor echoed her amusement.
Jack didn't laugh. Didn't think it was funny.
Didn't like being surprised, being vulnerable, not when his worldview was being torn down around him; the foundations on which he'd rebuilt his life eroding, worn away by constant exposure to these two.
He fought the inexorable pull: towards him, offering respect, confidence, command; towards her, remembered holding her, trusting; towards them, all exuberant joy. Convincing himself with varying degrees of success that he wasn't succumbing, wasn't tilting, shifting on his axis to travel in shaky orbit around them.
He shuddered, a clashing, crashing impact between ingrained self-interest and this new impulse.
The creeping subservience of the men in the market was waking a deep burning anger, rousing the slumbering wolf, the bad wolf: not the seducer, the hunter. He could feel it pacing behind his eyes, impatient and hungry.
Drawn from the tangle of his thoughts by Rose, asking if he was all right, he felt no pull, he just felt anger: anger at her for enjoying this, at him for dragging them to this world.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Great." Bitter irony laced his voice, drawing their gazes to him. "I get to leave. I'm not stuck here, playing lapdog for the rest of my life."
"Jack, it's not that bad…"
He was nearly savage now, flinging an arm out in angry emphasis.
"Isn't it, Rose? Isn't it? Look, really look, will you?"
He reined himself in, gritting out through clenched teeth, "They're like slaves. Look at them, scurrying along, no freedom, no say in what happens to them. This isn't some amusing little reversal of the balance of power; it's slavery."
It was rising in him, breaking the surface of his control, the black space in his mind where once there'd been two years of memories, two years of life; two years ripped away from him, leaving a void in their wake.
"Their lives can be snatched away, Rose. Gone," he snapped his fingers in front of her face, "just like that." Breath harsh, he closed his eyes. "Just. Like. That."
A soft hand, gentle, warm, slid over his clenched fist. He wanted to snatch it away, viciously reject what was offered. He didn't. Felt a larger hand, strong and firm, wrap around his calf. Wanted to kick out, striking at these constant threats; insidious, creeping, the constant nibbling wearing him down where a full-frontal assault would fail.
Deep breaths, fighting for control, wrestling his anger back behind his eyes. Aware he was projecting, he scrambled after calm, focussing, God help him, on the feel of two hands, both holding tight.
Opened his eyes; avoided their intent gazes. There was silence for one heart beat. Two.
"Right." The Doctor hopped up. "I think it's time for those drinks."
Drinks. Drinks sounded an excellent idea. He nodded, summoned a smirk, pale shadow of his normal grin. "One drink and I'm yours."
"Which one?" The Doctor returned the grin, dark eyes reflecting something entirely different.
"Either." He grinned at Rose as he stood and it was stronger, more real. "Both."
Release of tension and they laughed. Laughed harder as Rose said, "Well, apparently we are married…"
He was almost relieved they weren't serious. They were tying him to them despite his best efforts; he was afraid sex would make it worse, would strengthen those tentative bonds beyond his ability to resist.
Bright and noisy, the bar was glowing in the gathering twilight. Short days on this planet, only a few hours between midday and nightfall, meant happy hour started early.
Several drinks later Jack was feeling surprisingly mellow. Enough alcohol could make anything better. The drinks were large, colourful, distressingly sweet and very potent. Even with his high tolerance he was experiencing a pleasant blurring of the edges. Observing his companions he was struck by a wave of proprietary affection he didn't even try to deny.
They were very good drinks.
Every time he wove through the crowd to the bar he fielded flirtatious glances and caresses. He was in his element, in control, his earlier distress absorbed into the chance to play the game.
Glancing down, he saw the brilliant pink concoction was gone, glass lonely and empty, half-melted ice-star rattling in the bottom. His turn. He motioned to get their attention. "Another round?"
Rose was looking pleasantly hazy, gaze slightly unfocussed, but she nodded happily. The Doctor was as affected by the drinks as by Jack's flirtations: apparently immune; but he shoved some coins across the table.
Sliding through the crowd, twisting lithely to avoid some, but not all, of the attention directed his way, he was pulled up short as a claw like grip latched onto his shoulder. It stopped him, spinning him, sudden adrenaline burning off the alcoholic glow.
Huge, bristling: blue skin and tufts of hair covering a massive frame, his captor leered at him. "Little man, little pretty man. I've been watching you."
Wrenching back, he felt anger growing.
"You trot there, you trot here, you fetch drinks for those two," one huge hand indicated the Doctor and Rose, oblivious to his predicament. "I watch them. I watch you. You're no husband. You're a gelsfen, and a gelsfen has no protection."
He didn't know what a gelsfen was, but it didn't sound good.
"Little gelsfen, you will entertain me. I like pretty gelsfens." Her hand slid down his chest, across his hips, down his thigh, trailed back up to grasp his chin, forcing his head up.
He was seething, all his earlier fury rushing back.
Two ways out of a situation like this: play along, or break her hand. He could take the first option; summon swaggering seduction. He wanted the second, but here, on this world, he could imagine what would happen. Disinterested now, those nearby would act should he lash out.
As she dragged him forward he wanted to throw back his head and howl, wanted to tear through these people; bright wolf's grin glinting in his eyes not caring for repercussions, craving the immediacy of violence.
He hovered on the edge of control.
Then Rose was there, tapping the woman's shoulder and sliding between them when she turned. She grabbed the arm holding him, striking up sharply, dislodging it, throwing it away from them.
She pushed him with her body, forcing him back, one step at a time, away from the blue woman. He could feel her quivering with the fury, twin to his own, he saw in her face when she glanced back.
He could see the Doctor, maintaining the required respectful distance, but anger burned brightly in the backs of his eyes.
His accoster was peering down at Rose with puzzlement. "Little woman, what are you doing?"
"What am I doin'?" She was all bright fury, golden and strong. "What am I doin'? What are you doin'?" She grabbed Jack's wrist, drawing it forward around her body. "He's mine. You get it? Understand?"
The blue woman frowned. "I watch him, I watch you. He's not yours. That other one is yours, but not this one." She loomed forward, towering over Rose, voice rising in anger. "And if he's not yours, then he's gelsfen and gelsfen are anyone's."
Back rigid with anger Rose stood, dwarfed but refusing to retreat. Threw her head back in defiance, practically snarling. "I don't know what gelsfen is, but get this through your thick skull, Bluey. You don't look at 'im. You don't touch 'im. You don't even think about touchin' 'im."
Punctuating her words with jabs at Bluey's chest.
"He's mine, and…" she looked around; found the Doctor, hovering, unable to act. Reached out and dragged him closer. "…he's mine. You go find your gelsfen somewhere else, ya' hear?"
He knew it could go badly. Glanced sideways, saw the Doctor gathering himself. Watched Bluey and waited for the explosion.
It never came.
Bluey's identical twins came up beside her and grabbed her. One of them addressed Rose with a sigh, ignoring the two men. "Sorry about that. Vorta gets a bit funny after she's had too much to drink. No harm done?"
He could feel Rose shaking, could feel her ready to explode; he leaned into her, trying to tell her it was okay, to let it go now the danger was passed. He must have gotten through; felt her draw a deep shuddering breath, then another, before she nodded curtly.
The one who'd addressed Rose latched on to Bluey's – Vorta's – arm and dragged her, protesting, away. The confrontation had been ignored; only the clear space around them indicating it had been noticed.
Rose stood, breathing deeply, still clutching them, unwilling or unable to let go. Closed her eyes briefly and released them. "Let's get out of here."
They followed silently behind her as she led them out of the bar, pausing in confusion until the Doctor pointed the way.
As they walked he glanced sideways at her. Reached out and pushed her, just lightly. At her incredulous look he said, "Yours? As if."
She just stared, blinked, then dissolved into hysterical laughter, taking him with her. Dragged the Doctor in, despite his baffled expression. The laughter stole the last of the anger, adrenaline draining away, leaving him shaky in its wake.
Wiping her eyes, Rose leaned on the Doctor, who smiled gently at her. "My head hurts, my mouth feels like something crawled into it and died and I wanna go home." She sighed. "Why'd you bring us here anyway, Doctor?"
Sadly, gazing around the pristine city, he answered quietly, "It used to be different."
Neither of them said anything in response; they made their way back to the TARDIS in silence.
